The Briar and the Rose
by FlitterFlutterFly
Summary: Based of the legend of Tristan and Isolt. At an old church Cornish Harper and Irish Beauty meet. There a love sparks to outshine all others, even in their tragic deaths. Harry/Draco. AU. Oneshot. Somewhat OOC.


**Pairing: **Harry/Draco

**Notes: **Based off a song retelling of the tragedy of Tristan and Isolt by Heather Dale. It's not like the movie, nor is it like the original French legend. I'll include the lyrics of the song as you read the story, but it's not meant to be taken as a song!fic since the lyrics are not a perfect match anyways.

But biggest note is that I do not have Harry and Draco drink a love potion. I just have them fall in love (you can perhaps think of it as love at first sight). In the original tale, Tristan, or Harry in this case, was the king's nephew who came to pick up Isolt (or Isolde depending) to be married to him (the king). Isolt, Draco here, and Tristan accidentally drink a love potion on the ship ride over. Well, I completely changed that part of the story. Like completely.

* * *

_Who knows not the tragedy of Tristan and Isolt?_

_The fair-haired Cornish harper whose hands held steel and string?_

_And Ireland's greatest treasure, borne like Helen 'cross the water_

_While the waves approaching bowed before her beauty?_

Long ago, when the world still valued things like chivalry and honor, there lived two tragic souls. A handsome Cornish man whose fingers played tireless melodies that brought tears to the eyes of even the harshest men, called simply Harry. And Ireland's greatest beauty whom was sought after by many and named after the elegant dragons of old, Draco. Their tale begins and ends with the ever-climbing vines, Ireland's briar and Cornwall's rose.

oooOooo

_All who've heard the telling know the blind and bitter Fates_

_Placed the cup of love's sweet poison to unconsenting lips_

_And as plank fell home to timber and the king beheld his lady_

_Carols rang within the church and seagulls screamed._

Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead and adjusted the pack slung over his shoulder. His non-descript tunic was made for the north and Ireland's summer was just too hot. He had found his supplies in southern Spain, where they told him he would need it. They had forgotten that Harry had been born and raised in northern Wales. Ireland had practically the same seasons. Harry had worn short sleeves at home, and wished for them now.

Beggars can't be choosers however, and though Harry was a Master Harper his occupation didn't bring him much riches at his age. His clothes had been cheap, and that had been a blessing. So Harry decided on taking a short rest in some shaded area and cool off.

The perfect place showed up on the horizon only a few hundred steps later. An old and most likely abandoned church, walls tumbling but still shading several large areas of soft grass. Harry reached it quickly enough and by the time he had taken off his pack and the outer layer of his tunic, he was feeling tremendously better. He almost felt relaxed enough to take a nap, and so he did, relishing in the grass still slightly damp from the last rain. Harry closed his eyes and slipped off into blessed darkness.

As the Cornish man slept, another man came up to the abandoned religious house. This was fair-haired Draco whose carriage had broken down back around the nearby river. He had wandered off, waving away the calls of both guard and servant to stay close.

Draco soon had become lost, however, and was relieved to find a place to rest his tired feet. He spotted the sleeping man as he rounded the side of the ruined wall and at first he was anxious, thinking him some bandit or rouge. But upon seeing the man's clothes and his harp sticking out of the leather bag, he decided the man harmless enough. He settled down a couple yards away from the man and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

Harry woke the moment he heard footsteps near him. He pretended to go on sleeping as the unknown person sat down. When nothing happened for several heartbeats, Harry started his act of waking, sitting up slowly and blinking his eyes as if he were befuddled. He stood as he took note of the intruder.

The figure stood as well and all the witty comments Harry had prepared flew out of his mind in an instant. There before him stood the most perfect beauty Harry had ever seen and probably ever would see. Silky blond hair framed a pale and elegant face that held plush lips and gorgeous grey eyes. The man's body was tall, though still shorter than Harry's impressive height, and clothed in the stylish robes of a nobleman without the rounded belly that usually belied such status.

Harry was speechless as his mind all of the sudden began playing fantasies that all ended with this man writhing beneath him in bed. He knew that Ireland, like Whales, did not care for the sex of their couples so long as there was an heir somewhere. He could only hope that this man felt the same, for the fire that all of the sudden burned within him would not be diminished easily. He'd never met any who affected him so before even a word was spoken and for a brief moment he entertained the though to witchcraft before deciding that too silly.

Around him, the wind picked up as if in agreement, blowing several petals, rose upon inspection, around the noble male.

Draco stood as the mysterious man did. He had watched him as he lay, but only now did Draco get a good look. The man had a noticeably strong build and he was tanned like a peasant, which Draco found for once attractive. Draco's eyes traveled up past the strong chin, glancing over the messy ebony-black hair, until they settled on deep emerald orbs. The intensity, the evident lust, that sparkled in those depths caused Draco to quite nearly take a step back, though his own eyes must have mirrored that emotion.

"Greetings," Harry said, then mentally berated himself for the lameness of his tone.

"Greetings," Draco echoed in a slightly shaky voice. Quickly, he took a deep breath and regained his composure. "I am Lord Draco of the Malfoys. And yourself, Harper?"

Harry grinned, regaining his own composure as he straightened his slouched back. Deftly, he swooped to pick his harp up out of his bag. "I am humbly named Harry of a long line of Cornish Potters, Master Harper and current traveler. It is most pleasurable to make your acquaintance, Lord Draco." He bowed gracefully then and rang his fingers along his harp's strings as accompaniment.

Draco felt himself smiling and was surprised. He rarely smiled. "Master Harper? None make the rank of Master til they are greyed, you are surely playing me for a fool."

Harry winked. "No, milord, I would doubt you to be the foolish type. I am Master, the youngest of my craft, bequeathed the title three seasons prior to now by Master Lupin of England upon his death bed." The thought of Remus gave Harry just a small pang of sadness, but the had known when he first apprenticed to the old Harper that he would not be given much time with the sickened Master.

Draco raised an eyebrow. He'd heard of Master Lupin whose storytelling was told to be something of wonder. He remembered now the rumors of the Master Lupin's apprentice whom he'd gifted mastership shortly before drawing his last breath, but the rumors had never spoken to the age of the new Master. Regardless, were Harry playing him for a fool, he'd at least done his research.

"You are not convincing me entirely, good sir," Draco said finally. "Play something for me and I shall see for myself." He knew he was taking a risk with such a request. If this Harry was truly a Master, he was well within his right to be offended for being asked to play a tune without pay.

Harry blinked, having not been expecting such a request, but he shrugged mentally. Well, why not? His finger's itched with the urge to show off to this young lord. With that in mind, Harry motioned for Draco to sit down.

Draco did so, looking for a nice spot on the wall to lean his back against. There, in between an up-climbing rose vine and a creeping briar was a lovely spot. He sat down with as much poise as he could manage at the current site. Once he'd become comfortable, he indicated that Harry should start.

Harry bowed once again, cleared his throat, and began to sing. It was the only ballad of the ardent lovers whose disapproving villages forced them apart until they were forced to run into the hills together. The story itself was hauntingly beautiful, ending with just the right amount of hopeful desperation to be believable, but it was the performance that gave Draco chills. Harry's voice was a low tenor, matching perfectly to the melody of his harp as he moved through the verses with a practiced air.

Draco was silent for several long moments after Harry had finished with another flourishing bow. He had been prepared for something bad, he had even been prepared for something good. He had not been prepared for something so perfect it stole his breath away like the most treacherous of thieves.

When he found his voice again, Draco found himself asking for another song with unmistakable wonder in his tone. Harry merely chuckled and agreed, complying easily with all of Draco's requests. He was enthralled with the reactions of the fair Lord, fingers running over his harp until they were stiff and his voice hoarse. When he finally stopped the sun was well on its way to setting he was forced to claim exhaustion.

Draco relented and Harry shared with him some of the bread and cheese he'd brought with him. It was nowhere near a full meal, but enough to satisfy their growling stomachs.

"So, what do you think happened to his place?" Harry asked as he broke off another piece of the loaf and layered on the cheese.

Draco eyed the crumbling church walls. "I do not know," Draco admitted. "Maybe the residing priest died and a replacement was never sent."

Harry nodded. "That seems plausible," he looked around once more and his eyes fell on the two vines next to Draco. "How do you think a Cornish rose got all the way to Ireland?"

Draco turned and studied the plants as well. "I am not sure. The Irish briar is rather rare in these parts as well."

"It is a bit sad," Harry started.

Draco smiled softly, immediately understanding. "It is sad that they are so close and yet are unable to touch."

They both could see how the plants seemed to yearn towards each other. Even the roses blossomed towards the briar, and not to the sun as would be normal.

Harry looked at Draco with his soul reflected in his eyes. The sunset was casting a glow of the young Lord's hair and they were close now to ward of the coming cold. For a moment, Draco was sure Harry was going to kiss him and he thought he might just let him.

Just then, the sound of horse hooves permiated the air and they jumped apart. Both stood, watching as a four-horse carriage pulled up next to them. Draco recognized it and the guards around it at once, blushing as he realized he'd forgotten all about his entourage.

"My Lord!" The head guard rushed over, already in the process of drawing his sword.

"Nott," Draco greeted. "It is good to see you."

Harry had stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. Nott stopped in front of Draco, eyes roaming over him to see if he'd been hurt. "We were so worried," he said.

"Thank you, Nott, but as you can see I am quite well," Draco said, all his earlier comfort gone to be replaced by haungting nobleness. "The Master Harper hear ensured I did not starve and kept me well entertained."

At that, Nott's whole disposition changed and he quickly bowed to Harry. "I am grateful to you then, Master Harper. My Lord Draco must get to Dublin saftely and as soon as possible. We would have been delayed much longer had we to nurse our lord back to health."

"You are going to the wedding?" Harry asked, guessing easily. "I have been commissioned to play in the ceremony myself. I have not heard with whom the king will be wedded to."

Draco froze and Harry, seeing this, felt the cheerful smile drop from his face.

Nott, not noticing as Draco turned away, grinned. "King Blaise has declared my lord here to be his chosen consort. He promised his baby cousin as heir already so that they would be able to marry."

Draco did not want to meet Harry's eyes, so instead he started walking towards the carriage. "Nott, we need to depart," he called over his shoulder. "And Master Harper, thank you for the snack and songs. If you would like, I have extra room in my carriage. We are traveling to the same place, after all. It's the least I could do."

It was the least. Draco could not help but feel guilty for, even though he hadn't been trying to, he knew he had led Harry on. He felt the bitten disappointment in his gut that told him just how much he would have liked for that kiss to occur before his secret was told. But Draco knew Blaise would not accept any lovers on the side for either of them, it was not his way.

For a moment, Draco thought Harry would refuse his offer. He almost wondered if that would be for the best, but the ebony-haired Cornish man merely bowed his head in acceptance and walked with the Irish king's future consort.

They travelled for a week. Not once did Harry say anything to Draco unless asked a direct question. He played for both lord and guards alike, but his energy never reached that of what it had been in the old church.

Harry knew he was being childish, but that did not stop him from separating from the party the moment they reached Dublin. Only two days later, Harry saw Draco again in what should have been a joyous occasion. The Harper forced himself to be happy for the Irish beauty as he played the wedding songs. It was a beautiful event and nearly all of Ireland's nobles and peasant folk alike had shown up to watch.

When Draco came later on the arm of his new husband to thank Harry and the other Harpers for their playing, Harry was able to give them a sincere congratulation. Draco was never meant for him, a simple Harper. He belonged with royalty and he and the king made a striking couple.

Draco shot down the pang that beat in his heart as he heard Harry's congratulations and smiled instead at the man he'd given his heart to after only two days. But Blaise was his future now and he allowed himself to be led away without fuss as the wedding party disbanded.

Harry paid no mind to his own disappointment as he left Dublin as quickly as possible. He barely knew the man, but his heart seemed not to care.

oooOooo

_All the harpers labored on their agonies of passion_

_Unfulfilled and ever straining like lodestones to the north._

_But few will ever mention how the cold breath of the Northlands_

_Let them lie at last as one without deceit._

Harry spent two seasons traveling around Ireland. He paid his way with inn performances, occasionally entertaining Ireland's noble class at their various manors. Not once did he see Draco or the king, though he heard of them often. They were rarely seen without each other, the rumors told. So rare it was, a love pairing between royals.

Harry could not stop thinking of those grey eyes locked with his own at that old church. He dreamed of roses and briars, waking up in cold sweat just as often as he woke to find himself covered in his own seed.

He desperately tried to distract himself, taking lovers left and right, but he knew every morning he'd failed as he woke with arms wrapped around someone too short, too stocky, or too browned, all of them just wrong.

Then winter came, blanketing the countryside and forcing Harry to retreat with the other travellers nearby to the Stronghold of Black, under the eye of its Lady Bellatrix.

He didn't realize until it was too late that Consort King Draco was also there, having been caught in the storm while visiting his cousin. As King Blaise waited alone in Dublin, Harry and Draco met once again.

Harry spent the first week resolutely ignoring the other, but he found too soon that his resolve was weakening and so, stuck in the castle with his forbidden love, he gave up and went in search of the now royal lord.

Draco stood at a large window in his empty chambers, gazing outside at the snow covered hills. He knew Harry would seek him out, though it he were asked he would have not been able to tell why he knew. He waited patiently, dread and anticipation both curling in his gut. He had no defenses against the Harper, he knew that also just as surely, and though he never wanted to break his promises against his husband, he also knew he would have no choice.

Footsteps alerted him to the other's presence, but Draco did not turn.

"The snow, what do you think of it?" Harry asked, standing slightly behind Draco as the blond looked outside.

Draco titled his head, giving him a sad smile that was reflected back on the glass. "Blaise says the snow is beautiful." Draco shook his head. "I do not agree."

Harry ignored the twang of jealousy that coursed through him at the mention of the king's name. "It is covering life, preventing the plants from growing and thriving," he continued for Draco.

Draco turned finally to fully face Harry, a searching look in his gaze. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

Harry took a step closer to the male, breathing in the intoxicating scent of vanilla and sea that wafted off Draco. "Because you are beautiful." Another step. "Because you are fun." Another. "Because you are elegant and graceful." And another. "Because you are married." One last one step, trapping Draco with his back fully against the window sill, their faces so close that Harry now whispered. "Because I love you regardless."

And then Harry placed his lips against those inviting plush ones, gently caressing them, pouring all the things he could not say aloud. When he finally pulled back and turned as if to leave, Draco found his voice.

"Are you just going to run away, then? Will you leave me, just like that?" Draco's voice cracked, all his raging emotions coming into that broken tone. "What if I were to say that you weren't alone in your feelings?"

Harry turned back to the man who held his heart. He brought a hand up to cradle Draco's head, stroking his cheek with his thumb. "You don't want to say that."

Draco reached forward and clung to Harry's tunic. "I do not care. I want you, I want you to have all of me."

Harry's other hand came to clasp at Draco's. He laughed bitterly. "But I will never have all of you," he spat. "Your dear king has your hand, your body, and from the way the land sees, your heart as well."

Draco shook his head. "No, not my heart. I grew up with Blaise. He is a great friend and at first I was not opposed to marrying him. I thought I would grow to love him as a husband. But it never happened, I met you Harry and you stole my heart the minute you struck that first chord on your harp." Draco took a shuddering breath and met Harry's surprised eyes. "You have my love, do what you will with it. I can not escape from my marriage with Blaise, I would not do that to him, but I can give you my body. I am yours, my handsome Harper."

Harry should have refused. Instead, he took the fair man's hands and gently led him to the large bed. Draco allowed Harry to lead, knowing it was one thing he could give the man without any loss of his own. He could not help but compare, even as Harry was divesting them both of their clothes, how much more assured Harry's touch was. Blaise loved him, a fact that always sent a pang of guilt through him when they were in bed together, but here Harry loved him and so too did he love him back.

Harry was a slow lover, taking his time exploring Draco's body. He knew he'd get few times to have this man and so he went over every patch of skin, spending many long moments on both of Draco's pink nipples and even longer attached to his mouth, hands roaming freely. The moon high in the sky by the time Harry had moved even from Draco's torso and by that point the royal man was gasping, hypersensitive to every small caress.

Assured by the relaxed form of Draco, Harry spent only a moment preparing him with the lotion on the bedside table and then entered him in one thrust, coming out and thrusting again at a steady pace.

Draco arched back against each thrust, hands gripping at Harry's biceps as he moaned. "Harry, Harry, Harry, please, Harry," he mumbled again and again as he was taken.

Harry brought one hand down to bring Draco to his release, taking only three more thrusts after to come to his own.

Draco lay sated on the bed as Harry hovered over him, pulling out and watching, taking note of the flush on the paler man's cheeks and the swollen nature of his mouth. Over his body, love bites reared their marks and Harry winced, realizing he'd have to be more careful than that.

That did not stop Harry and Draco from finding pleasure with each other as the snow continued to build up. It was only during the spring thaw that the passes cleared enough to allow safe passage.

And with the thaw came a company of men, led by the king himself, to pick up his consort and take him home.

oooOooo

_When Tristan could no longer bear the shame of guilty conscience,_

_He took ship to far Bretagne, half-hearted and bereft._

_He cast aside his music, cut the strings which brought him joy,_

_And took solace in the fury of the field._

It only took one look at Draco and the king reunited together before Harry was forced to flee, for his own sanity if nothing else. He said no goodbye, though he knew that act would hurt his lover. He could not stand to be the consort's mister in Dublin, would not be able to exist with such a life.

Defiantly, he headed to England, where talk of war sparked the forgotten warrior in him. He bought a sword, jumped aboard the next ship out of Ireland, and did not look back.

As for Draco, when he turned to find the whereabouts of his lover, all he found was a single prized harp and a small note.

Happy be those who don't live in lies and deceit. The sun loves the moon, but it is the night that keeps them apart. Should moon and night stay together, happiness perhaps they shall find.

Draco discreetly searched all of Ireland and Whales for his Cornish lover, but he never heard word of an ebony-haired Master Harper and so, distraught, he settled into his life with Blaise. Despite all the note seemed to ask, he did not find happiness only contentment. Somehow, he told himself, that would have to be enough.

oooOooo

_Praise grew up around him like the corn around a boulder_

_As the Cornishman did battle with demons in and out._

_In singing sword and thunder, Tristan vainly sought distraction_

_Yet she whispered in the silence of the slain._

Harry worked his way into the armies of King Arthur of Britain and fought with a ruthlessness that surprised even himself. He gave no name, though he was asked many times. Because of that, his battle companions simply called him Black and he accepted the title easily. Not because of his hair-color, for all that was their reasoning, but for the blackened mess that was left of his heart.

The enemy soon learned to cringe at the sight of his soulless green eyes, but Harry took no prisoners and gave mercy only in quick death. Blood soaked his hands so thoroughly that he knew he'd never be able to play his harp again, even if he had kept it, for the pure instrument wouldn't accept the killer's hand's he now wore.

It was in war that Harry made friends with the youngest son of King Arthur, a man named Ron, who fought besides him, not fearing as many of the others did when Harry felled the enemy soldiers.

Harry accepted Ron's presence easily enough, though he rarely spoke with him. It was only one night that threatened to break that fragile bond.

Ron sat at the fire next to Harry, laughing with some of the other warriors. "What was that you were saying yesterday, Seamus?" Ron asked over his bread.

"About the Irish king?" Seamus shot back. He was Irish himself and had come over from that country to fight war.

Harry stiffened, but none of them took notice.

"The Irish king and he flowery male whore," Ron chortled out. "What did you say, overcompensating or something, huh?"

Before Seamus could answer, Harry had Ron flat on his back, sword threateningly close to his neck.

"Never speak of Draco in such a manner again," Harry growled, not caring that he was possibly going to get beheaded for acts against a member of the royal family. "Or I will not hesitate to cut out your tongue."

Ron's eyes were wide, as were the eyes of all the other nearby. Seamus had his mouth wide open, though any words he would have said seemed caught.

Satisfied that they got his meaning, Harry let go of the prince and stood. He turned to face all of them. "I fight for your country, I kill for country, I may even die for your country, but do not mistake that as loyalty. There is only one who hold that, and I will not hear any ill words of him."

The next day, battle raged and the other warriors seemed to ignore all that Harry had said, at least in the remark that they didn't charge him for treason. But neither did anyone again mention the Irish king and his Consort.

oooOooo

_In the way of warriors rewarding noble heroes,_

_Fairest Blanchmaine of the Britons was given for his wife._

_But Blanchmaine knew no pleasure from her cold and grieving husband_

_For the marble face of memory was his bride._

Nearly a year after he'd joined the English army, Harry stepped in front of an arrow meant for Ron, ignoring the sting in his arm as the tip went through and came out the other end.

The medics quickly took him from the field, though Harry protested that he was fine. Soon enough, the arrowhead was broken off and the shaft was pulled out, luckily not splintering inside his skin.

Ron found him later, lying on his bed in the med tent, staring at the tent ceiling. "You saved my life," Ron said immediately. "I am in your debt."

Harry shook his head. "It did not even pierce my bone. I shall be able to fight again in only a few short weeks."

"Still," Ron said. "How can I repay you?"

Harry looked at him, eyes dead. "I want only one thing and that is the thing I'll never have."

Ron left, head reeling, but he made sure to tell his father the king of his companion's actions. King Arthur, hearing that the strong warrior had no wife, and since Consorts were a much rarer practice in England gave that no thought, called the ebony-haired man to attend him.

Harry travelled to the castle and knelt before the red-haired king easily. "Your Majesty," he murmured as he lowered his head.

Arthur looked over the cool warrior. His son had told him that the one called Black had no loyalty to England, and yet he was such a fantastic warrior. Surely once something was in place that tied the man to his country, Arthur would benefit from having such a warrior. And, though Arthur was hardly attracted himself, he knew what a handsome man looked like, and Black was one indeed.

Decided Arthur cleared his throat. "Warrior, you are called Black, is that the name you wish to be given?"

Harry's head rose. "It is the name I do not care to be known by or not to be, milord."

Arthur frowned. "So you do not wish to be called it?"

"Whatever pleases milord," Harry said mildly. "I will give no other name."

Arthur's frown deepened at this, but he put it out of his mind. "Very well then, Warrior Black, I, King Arthur of England, in deference to the saving of my youngest son's life, grant upon you the title of knighthood."

Harry blinked at this, though accepted it as the sword was placed on his shoulder and transferred to the other. He spoke no oath, however, and Arthur did not ask for one. Harry had half a mind to wonder why, but then Arthur was continuing.

"Sir Black, I have heard you've no wife, is that a truth?"

"Yes, my liege," Harry said, changing the title now that he was knighted. He may not have spoken an oath, but he would rule by one so long as he could.

"Well then, Sir Black, you shall take my daughter's hand in marriage and join our royal family," Arthur said. It was not a question, but a command, and Harry heard it just as that.

Harry turned to gaze upon the smiling face of the youngest royal, a girl with flaming red hair and un-noble freckles.

But Harry consented, seeing no way he could turn down the offer and still stay in England. He had no desire to go back to mainland Europe and Ireland was out of the question at this point.

Harry and Ginevra, Ginny as she preferred though he never used the nickname, were wed in a simple manner that Harry could not help but compare to the wedding that had changed his life. He was soon immersed in the royal family and though he liked many of his brothers-in-law and even his new king and queen, he had no desire for Ginny and that showed, at least to her, in his actions.

Ginny had been excited initially at the thought of marrying such a handsome and brave man, but though he conversed well enough with her twin brothers and even with Ron, he barely spoke a word to her. When they made love, as she liked to call it, he was cold and distant. When they lay in their bed, he made no move to touch her.

And so, even as war still raged, Ginny grew bitter against the man she'd dreamed would be so perfect and yet to her was nothing but an empty title of husband.

oooOooo

_In that time the country was beset with Eden's serpents_

_And the basest of all creatures can bring the highest low._

_Two poisons coursed within him, and none could be his savior_

_But the healing arts of Ireland and Isolt._

Harry continued to fight in the name of England, now besides any and all of the royal family instead of just Ron. When he was finally struck down it was by no man, but instead by a serpent named Nagini and set upon him by the evil lord with whom they warred.

Even as Nagini reared her ugly head, Harry laid the final blow upon the Lord Voldemort, killing him just as the snake struck forward.

Neville, a lord of which he'd grown fond, killed the snake and brought both Harry's limp body and the news of the end of the war to their camp. Harry was quickly transported to the castle where he lay fevered and sick even as the country celebrated the end of a long campaign.

None but Harry knew that it was not one but two venoms that swept through his body. Nagini's poison was killing him quickly, but it was already helped by the desperation come from lost love that had been taking it's toll on Harry's soul ever since his arrival in England.

"There is nothing I can do, my king," the healer said as King Arthur stood by Harry's bedside.

Harry blinked blearily. "Draco," he rasped. "Bring me Draco."

"Draco of Ireland?" King Arthur exclaimed. "I'd heard he was good at the healing arts, but Black, would he come?"

"Let me write me a letter," Harry begged. "He will come."

And so Harry did, hand shaking as he asked for his only love to join his bedside. His fever reached new heights even just as he finished his draft and before he could make sure the letter had been sent, he slipped into a harsh sleep.

oooOooo

_Wings of hope departed, struggling North against the tempest_

_With tender words entreating for mercy and for grace._

_If his love no longer moved her, hoist the black into the rigging_

_But if white brought them together, he would wait._

On the day Harry was struck by Nagini, Draco felt a phantom pain in his thigh, at the exact spot of Harry's wound, and grew sick. The Irish king was frantic with worry over his Consort, but Draco made a relatively fast recovery and they ignored the strange occurrence.

Nearly a week later, a letter arrived at the palace addressed to Draco. He opened it, curious as to why the king of England would write to him. His husband looked on over his shoulder, but made no move to take the parchment.

"Consort King Draco," Draco read allowed for his husband's benefit. "I ask of you a boon, one of which is of great importance to me. My son-in-law is sick, dying even now from the venom of a serpent. My healers tell me you may be able to save him, and so I beg of thee, one royal to another, to travel with haste to Britain. I will forever be in thy debt and the debt of thy king, if only you would save this man I have come to call a son."

Draco exchanged a glance with Blaise, both confused. "I see no harm," Blaise said finally. "I must stay here, but take the royal guards. I doubt King Arthur would risk bringing another war upon his country."

Draco nodded, having heard of the final completion of the previous battling. Though England was victorious, it was not without great cost.

"There is more," Blaise pointed to the scrawled script on the back of the parchment. Draco turned it over and almost dropped the letter, instantly recognizing Harry's handwriting.

Draco read it quickly, no longer aloud, but Blaise had no such inhibitions.

"Draco," Blaise began, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the lack of formality. "It has been many years since I've last laid eyes on you and much has happened to me. As you may have heard, I am married though by no choice of my own. I find myself on my deathbed and though I do not fear my fate, my only wish is that one last time you to be by my side. Upon your ship, raise black sails if you no longer care for me. But if you do, as I still do you, then let white adorn. Yours, Harry."

Draco did drop the letter as Blaise read, but the king kept his hold on it, turning as he finished to meet the wide eyes of his consort. "Blaise," Draco began.

"This is he," Blaise stated, cutting Draco off. "The man who holds your heart. King Arthur's son-in-law?"

Draco swallowed deeply. "How?"

Blaise gave him a sad and slightly bitter smile. "I know you do not love me as I do you, Draco. Another already holds your heart, but I could not bring myself to ask who."

Draco turned his face away, eyes now wet. It had been so long since he'd seen Harry, but his love had not dwindled in the least. "I am sorry."

Blaise reached one hand up and wiped away the single tear as it fell. "Go, heal your love. I will not begrudge you that."

Draco leaned in and gave Blaise a kiss, one last goodbye though then neither knew it, and then he left quickly.

Blaise stood much longer, staring at the letter's script, before finally throwing it in the fire, watching it burn with the remaining hope he'd had.

oooOooo

_Daylight creeping downward, Tristan's demons massed against him_

_And the words of his delusions brought hidden love to light,_

_While the woman he had married but to whom he'd given nothing_

_Sat her long and jealous vigil by his side._

In England, Harry was moved to the port city where Draco's ship would be coming in. He barely noticed, too sick now to even lift his hand. Eventually, the royal family returned to their duties, all the while keeping an ear out for the fate of their brother-in-law. Only Ginny kept her place by her husband's bedside.

Deep in the night, as Harry dreamed with feverish nightmares, Ginny watched. "Draco," was murmured upon pale lips every so often and each time Ginny felt her heart break. She could not pretend that her husband just wished to be healed. No, she'd read the letter her husband had sent. He never loved her because he loved another.

Ginny raged jealously, maintaining her place, and yet eyes burning with all the pent up aggression and bitter anger. She had been upstarted even before she'd met the man she had wed, and now her husband and his pansy lover were to be reunited.

Ginny had never thought of herself as a mean girl, but as she heard that name on the lips of her husband, she could not let go of the rage inside her.

oooOooo

_Morning framed the answer walking lightly o'er the water._

_Like Christ's own victory banner, it flew toward the shore._

_It was white as angels' raiments, but when feebly he begged her,_

_Fairest Blanchemaine softly told him, "'Tis of night."_

It seemed nature was on the lover's side, for Draco's ship had a strong wind guide their passage from Ireland's shore to England's, arriving only the next day with bright white sails.

Ginny, from her spot at the window, saw the sails as the ship docked and something inside her snapped. When she returned to her husband's death room, she held no sanity in her eyes.

"He has arrived," Harry mumbled, barely able to speak. "Tell me, Ginny, he is here, is he not?"

Ginny, who had not once heard her nickname spoken from her husband's lips, smiled cruelly, able at once to exact her perfect revenge. "The sails are black," she said with no remorse. "Black as night, black as your name, and black as your heart."

In that one instance, though Harry knew with certainty that his wife must be lying, his body shuddered. He could not accept that Draco was not besides him, and yet his ownself betrayed him.

And so Ginny watched, no love in her eyes, as her husband had seizure and died. She most calmly informed the manor's staff to ring the death bell and she sat by her dead husband's bedside, a body no longer with a soul.

oooOooo

_Who can say which venom took the soul from Tristan's body,_

_And the bells began their tolling as Isolt ran up the strand._

_The wind grew slow and silent as she wept upon her lover,_

_And in gentleness it took her grief away._

Draco was running up the length of the dock, ignoring his guards, ignoring the noble entourage waiting for him, ignoring everything but the sudden dread in his own gut. He would make it, he had to make, his mind begged even as he forced himself to run faster.

It was at the doors of the dockside manor that Draco heard for himself the death bell. He threw open the wood and made his way as fast as the wind to the room he could feel in his very being his lover lay.

There was a red-haired female by his lover's bed, but Draco ignored her just as surely as he'd ignored all the others and rushed up to the man with whom he'd never been able to forget.

"Harry!" Draco cried as he threw himself atop the body that was even then still warm. "Harry!"

And Ginny watched on as the blond Irish Consort King wept, a broken heart clearly shown, but still she felt nothing but satisfaction.

Draco could feel it as Harry's soul slipped away from his body, taking with it Draco's own heart. "No," he wept. "Do not leave me again, Harry, my love."

The soul seemed to pause and then it came, gently enveloping the distraught lover. Draco could feel as it pulled at him and in that moment he accepted his fate. Sparing one thought for his husband back in Ireland, he thanked the gods that he'd prepared for this, though he'd not wanted to believe the possibility when he'd written his goodbye letter.

Laying on his dead love, Draco gently met their lips as the soul took from him his own and with it, Harry's heart which had been beating in Draco's body. Without soul or heart, but with purity of both unlike the girl still watching, Draco died silently in sad peace.

oooOooo

_Side by side they laid them with the earth their separation._

_Even yet, they were divided by the morals of the world._

_But their spirits spiralled upwards, Ireland's briar and Cornwall's rose,_

_And together at the last, they lay entwined._

King Arthur buried his son-in-law on the royal grounds, the funeral attended to by many of the warriors Black, or Harry as he was supposedly named, had fought with. Ginny spent the rest of her life living silently in the castle, wandering aimlessly as if a ghost. Many assumed her too overcome with grief. She died at a young age, but her soul had already been taken to a dark place.

King Blaise took his consort to be buried in Ireland. Just as in England, the funeral was attended by many though by the friends and family of Draco and Blaise both.

It was months after both ceremonies that Blaise found the letter Draco had left for him. It was next to a beautifully simplistic harp that was collecting dust in a spare drawer of Draco's old study.

Blaise read the letter and when he was done he called for a carriage. Nearly a week later, he found himself at an old, crumbling church. Following his instructions, he found the spot on the wall where two vines crept upwards towards the sky.

Blaise laid down the harp at the ground between the two plants and for the first time since the death of his consort he smiled as he gazed upon Cornwall's rose and Ireland's briar, entwined together at last.


End file.
